


moral asphyxiation

by orphan_account



Category: Fate/Zero
Genre: F/F, F/M, Hate Sex, M/M, Mental Instability, Multi, consent not even dubious most of these are just rape, spoiler everyone suffocates haha thats the pun and i hate myself, unlimited angst works
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-22
Updated: 2016-04-26
Packaged: 2018-02-18 09:19:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2343251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“If something like me were to have a wish...simply touching a soul as beautiful as yours has granted it.”<br/>various oneshots centered around fucked up dynamics all shoved into a single awful fic so I don't overtake Ao3 with the sheer number of my awful F/Z rape fics. That said not all of them are non consenting but. Really so far only the Saber/Iri one is not founded in some sort of awful hate fixation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. acedia (Kirei/various)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Luna_Cat16](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luna_Cat16/gifts).



> I told my friends I feel dumb for writing nothing but rape and angst and rape angst but they adamantly insist they like my writing and want more of it even if im embarrassed to share the travesty that is my fetishes but oh well here you go have kirei getting off to the thought of forcing himself on everyone he knows  
> disclaimer that I shouldn't have to put because it's obvious: this is gross and bad about gross bad things  
> 

“You’re fascinating,” Gilgamesh told him, watching him brazenly across the dim room. “I don’t dole out compliments to just anyone so take what you’re given.”

Kirei placed his chin in his hand and thought about that word- fascinating, what it meant- taking a keen interest in someone, an intrinsic need to know more about them.

Kirei had never felt such intrigue. Even this King- he was a baffling spectacle, but only superficially. His intrigue, his annoyance, they were like the remnants of aching in a body saturated with painkillers. Gilgamesh was meaningless to him.

Everything was meaningless.

 

 

_“It doesn’t hurt?”_

_“No, dear. I hardly feel anything.”_

 

 

“I feel no excitement. No passion. What could this mean but a corrupted heart?”  he mused out loud, not even a question he needed answering.

“I am beyond the concept of corruption. That word is meaningless. If you want to see for yourself, I will allow you to partake in my body.”

It wasn’t a surprise, really, the offer for sex. Kirei wasn’t stupid. He understood desire, but he couldn’t bring himself to enjoy it without feeling a pang of guilt that he wasn’t...supposed to enjoy it. ‘Normal’ dosages of Catholic guilt would send the average man into tremors over Kotomine’s fantasies, and now this golden nymph was offering himself brazenly on his leather couch like a slab of steak.

Men sharing a bed together- such a concept was frowned upon by the majority of world religions. The Magus did not consider themselves human and so sex was almost purely for the sake of siring an heir. The woman pops one out, and if their circuitry is acceptable, rejoice- if not, toss it away and try again. Repeat ad nauseum. Why have sex with a man?

Well, in Kirei's case, because it felt wrong, and that was precisely what drove him sexually.

For Gilgamesh it was a simple lack of care, a set of morals that lined up with neither past nor present, simply his own whim. He fucked who he wanted to fuck, he made that pretty damn well clear.

Gilgamesh had the pupils of a cat- a creature that playfully tortured its prey and often discarded it later, bored. It certainly wasn’t fear that he was the prey that kept him rooted firmly in his seat as the other approached. Honestly he could die right now and would feel very little regret.

No…in that man’s eyes he saw the actualized brutality that had been like a subtle itch under his skin his entire life.

_I’m disgusting_ , he thought, the Servant grazing his fingers against his neck and looking at him hungrily.

Kirei felt no arousal, continued to stare blankly as the king’s lips curled upwards.

“You cannot corrupt me. I think you are the pure soul, poor creature who has experienced pain nor pleasure.”

Kirei moved his head to the side as the other’s lips descended upon his neck, allowed the kiss without emotion or response, and immediately Archer pulled away- Kirei assumed he would be offended, but his expression was amused.

“Rejection? You would reject me? Such an interesting man. Perhaps I’m not your type. Two sadists and neither a masochist…that combination would be absurd. But please…if you do find what you’re looking for-”

His breath was warm in Kirei’s ear. It almost seemed absurd, how seductive this man was when Kirei could only understand it on a fundamental level…

“I’d like to watch.”

 

Voyeurism

Two sadists getting off on each other’s depravity?

He thought of a lot of mundane things he’d seen in his lifetime, two local boys beating a stray dog to death, he’d stood and watched from a distance and when they saw him, ran, misunderstanding. The dog was still alive, and he’d contemplated healing it or killing it out of pity, either of those things would have been kinder than letting it bleed out.

In the end he did neither. Either action would have been pointless, and the longer he watched the more he felt-

Emotions. Things he wasn’t supposed to feel, crawling out of his mind whenever unpleasant things happened.

Nothing could possibly please him but the suffering of others.

That was wrong, wasn’t it? That wasn’t how other people felt.

Feeling nothing would be better.

His wife’s emaciated arms as she reached for her daughter, the pain crossing her face when she realized Caren would inherit the same immune deficiency that had ravaged her body, feeble, trembling, he’d been so careful with her, and regretted it now.

_Disgusting_ \- his skin was tingling with that awful itch again, images of mundane torture, the proximity of this man before he drew away.

Arousal?

He was aroused by that?

“I think you’re starting to understand, Kotomine.”

 

After conversing with Archer, his mind became disturbingly pornographic. Thoughts he spent years swallowing down like ineffective psychiatric medication became a recurring nightmare. The sexual ones were probably the worst, because the other participants were rarely willing, and even if he was only thinking sin, it felt sinful nonetheless.

Initially his strategy was to ignore it as usual, but it built up like an unscratched itch until he wondered if it was worth fighting- who was he hurting in reality? His poor, pious father? Tohsaka Tokiomi? Did they know him at all? Did they know the monster lurking beyond his complacent gaze?

 

He could no longer listen to Tohsaka philosophize about the meaning of human existence. His mind simply wandered to what it would be like to fuck him on his desk while he cried uselessly about it. He was so accustomed to lying emotionally by that point that Tokiomi didn’t even notice, interpreting his blank stare the same as always. Tohsaka was so prissy and clean and well-kept, right down to that stupid little goatee of his, and Kirei wondered what he looked like under his clothes, what it would be like to degrade him and reduce him to the level of the ‘rabble’ he looked down upon.

“Really there are only two Masters to be wary of.”

_Emiya and Archibald?_

Tokiomi was so bland.

He was so bland, he was as dull as his wine and prided himself in taste and it was almost enough to make Kirei smile from the schadenfreude of this man’s meaningless endeavors.

He imagined walking up to him and slamming his head into his desk, grinding his body against him. It would be sudden and abrupt, no need for theatrics, and Tokiomi’s pupils would retract into tiny dots, belting out a muddled

“What are you doing, Kotomine!?”

“Don’t fight, and I won’t hurt you” Kirei said blankly, and Tohsaka complied, understanding that Kirei overpowered him physically, too confused by the unexpected violation of his trust to think of a way out. He whimpered a bit as Kirei tugged his pants down and ran his hand over his ass, wove his fingers into Tokiomi’s hair like brambles, twisted his head back and forced him to look him in the eye, to understand the malicious intent in his glazed-over expression. He took some of that wine Tokiomi was always drinking and poured it over his naked flesh, poisoning his body the same way he poisoned his mind night after night, licked it off while Tohsaka sniffled in indignation, trembling like a frightened dog and not the refined Magus he thought he was.

“-It’s nice to see you smile, Kotomine. I am glad you understand. My trust in you is well-founded.”

 

They had documents on the other five teams, and what they knew about them. Kirei would flip through them sometimes, pausing in particular on Kiritsugu Emiya, looking at his stoic mugshot with a desperate longing.

_You understand, don’t you?_

_You don’t care about anything, you feel nothing._

_We’re the same._

_We’re the same, right?_

  


he loathed Irisviyel Einzbern, an object masquerading as a human, he held her by her throat and pelted her with questions about her husband, greedy to know more. He focused on her eyes, even as her chest heaved desperately, wondering if Kiritsugu Emiya would even react to him violating her, if her well-being meant anything to him. He thought of her bodyguard paralyzed with pain two feet away, forced to watch. He thought of her cries for Kiritsugu going unanswered, until she stopped struggling, tried to stare past him, detaching herself from her situation.

He let her. Maybe she understood how Emiya felt, unmoved by the event, staring at him coldly like an ornamental fish, hair pooling beneath her like luminous water.

Kirei wondered if she was beautiful, because he had no idea what beauty was. He understood nothing but emptiness, reflected back at him in that woman’s dull eyes, then realized he was still choking her in midair, his black keys the only tangible thing to violate her that night. He retracted them mechanically and felt a strange lurch as blood spilled from her stomach, reminding him that this useless puppet was human in flesh and mind after all.

 

_I love him. I would be happy to die for him._

_Then die._

 

He hesitated before dropping her, then left swiftly. He didn’t understand her. He didn’t understand Emiya. All he understood was the feeling of emptiness slowly making way for pleasure, unsure of which was more frightening.

  


He flipped to the next document- Matou Kariya. There were two images in his file, almost like two different people, and Kirei held them side-by-side and tilted his head. A carefree image of an ordinary young man, the information on him listing him as easygoing and impulsive. The mirrored image his true self- the vagrant that spent his latest days spitting up blood and hiding in the shadows like a sewer rat. Not realizing he was smiling, he flipped absently between the files ‘Emiya Kiritsugu’ and ‘Matou Kariya’ like he was playing heads or tails with them. Archer, watching ever vigilantly, chuckled.

"What?" he spat in annoyance.

"Well, it depends, really. Do you want your prey to fear you, or do you want the fear to be in the surprise of betrayal?"

"You refer to the other masters as though they are game animals."

"They aren't?" Gilgamesh yawned, and Kotomine shifted the pictures of Matou Kariya around, covered half of the 'good' one with the image of the 'bad' one.

 

When they finally fought- Tohsaka and Matou, Kirei watched. He needed to watch. He needed to understand what he was feeling. He looked down at his hands and moved his fingers, a sense of detachment from his physical body gnawing at him. He wondered if Kariya understood, if Kariya felt the same- his body withering away but his mind still kicking.

But he couldn’t possibly relate, Kirei reasoned, because it was Kirei’s mind that was rotten, not his body, and no matter how helpless Kariya was physically his mind kept fighting.

Kirei had given up on that.

He waited until Tokiomi toasted him, left him for dead, to gaze upon his pathetic form up close. Kariya stirred feebly, what was left of his mind crying out against death.

He hadn’t expected this.

Dead would be better, wouldn’t it?

Kirei forced his wickedness down like bad wine, healed him, and left. He told himself later that it was an act of kindness, but really, death would have been kinder than allowing that man to continue his struggle.

Two sadists and neither a masochist…that combination would be absurd.           

So he wanted to watch others suffer more?

He’d denied it earlier but Gil had seen through it, like everything else.

I am a disgusting pervert.

The words were less condemning now, for some reason.

Later he thought about visiting Kariya while he cowered in destitute, the sun setting and casting his alleyway into darkness. Kariya was grateful to see him. He tried to get to his feet and greet his ally, and Kirei knocked him over ruthlessly, relished his hurt expression before it grew livid and defensive. Matou was too weak to jerk his head away properly when Kirei grabbed him, rubbed his crotch against his face roughly.  

“Why?” he rasped.

Kirei did not answer. He grew hard at the furious look on Kariya’s face, then unzipped his pants and forced him to suck him off. He was clumsy and unenthusiastic, and choked violently as Kirei came, spitting the contents of his mouth into his hands and looking up at him with an enigmatic expression that reminded him distinctly of Tokiomi at his most prideful. There was blood mixed with his semen, and Kirei laughed heartlessly.

"That's a pretty scary look for a man who can't even fight his own battles."

They would all die by the end of this travesty. Pride was meaningless.

Distant from the fantasy, he looked down at his own hands again.

Sticky. Blood.

That's right, he'd...

 

Suddenly he didn’t feel sick anymore.

 

“Why are you interrupting my sleep?” Gilgamesh demanded groggily, but his protest was soon cut off by Kotomine’s lips. His eyes flew open, oscillated between rage and finally contentment at his new master’s change of heart, groaning into his mouth and grabbing a fistful of the priest's robes to pull him closer. Kirei felt the other acquiesce to his weight, feigning submission with a look of satisfaction that made him all the more repellent and beautiful, pulling his tongue away only to breathe out a satisfied “So you’ve realized, Kotomine?”

No words in response. Kirei was undressing the other man clinically and hastily, as though to prove this was real and not taking place in his mind. This man, this disgusting, polished, beautiful _filth_ , this was the only match for him in this world. He had no love for this man and the other had none to return.

“There’s no need to rush, my servant” the king chided him, bracing his hand on Kirei's head like he was a dog, and internally Kirei was laughing at this debauched King's surprising naivete, that Gilgamesh thought he could ever be anything more than a toy for his amusement, the truth of his next words- “You’ve already won.”

He'd won because he had nothing to lose. That was the reality of this war; and the reality of his entire life.


	2. Wrath (Gilgamesh/Lancelot)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dedicated to my friends. But. esp Ari and Luna you sick fucks. Also to all the hurt-comfort fics out there where a guy's magical penis somehow heals rape trauma, have a girl saving a man in distress.  
> also for Casca  
> I will avenge Casca (I act like i'm not a terrible person myself wow)
> 
> (my love for you is like a truck)  
> i need jesus apparently but that didn't seem to help kirei any also it's 6 AM so i'll be back to check this for spelling errors for the 10th time tomorrow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> notes: this one's even more depressing than usual for some reason. But I don't want to spoil it too much so i'm just going to warn about the squicky parts. guy/guy rape, guy wants to rape girl, blackmail, stabbing, peoples comatose bodies tossed into a room for worms to supply mana, choking, freaky moment where fingers go places they shouldn't go then go in other places which is definitely not sanitary but hey these are heroic spirits let's pretend their butts are magic, major character death and depictions of gore every few paragraphs, the usual

“Do you know what a knight is, Lancelot? Surely you know. Even if you have fallen from that position you once understood.”

It was a trick question, for sure, but he gave the answer he knew his Master wanted.

“A knight serves the King. That is his only purpose.”

Gilgamesh smiled, ran his fingers through the hair that he used in lieu of his helmet, brushing it aside so he could take in that anguished expression.

“That is why a knight cannot be King.”

“Do not speak ill of-”

“You are in no place to bark at me, dog,” Archer chided. “You are my possession. You chose to take her place and I humored your request. But only because you put up such a good fight for a mongrel.”

Was that supposed to be a compliment? Why did this man touch him so intimately? Lancelot hated intimacy. It was like a curse that anyone who touched him should befall a terrible fate.

And that was why…

That was why he would never tell her the truth.

“Oh, oh no, you look so sad, dog. If you are simply going to sulk about I really have no use for you, or your master for that matter. He’s going to die eventually anyway, isn’t he? It’s just our luck that the sordid love triangle didn’t kill any of those people, though I doubt any of them will ever wake up. Their comatose states can still supply you with the mana you need, right?

He wanted to beg this man to kill Kariya. Even if they had never spoken, even if they couldn’t exchange words he had vowed to serve that man. Even if Matou’s mental state had been on a continuous decline…

They didn’t deserve this. Perhaps Lancelot deserved this but Kariya did not. Aoi Tohsaka certainly did not.

“If you don’t seek the holy Grail then what do you want?”

For the first time he noticed just how frightening Archer’s eyes were.

“Entertain me.”  


The intent was obvious. He meant sexually, but Lancelot had no idea how to ‘entertain’ another man. Why would the Archer servant even settle for him? He knew what Gilgamesh really wanted- to claim ownership of his King, Who had been severely injured in the previous battle. However, as it has almost been Lancelot's victory, as Saber's injury had been at his hands he'd...

He had been angry. So angry. He had wanted her dead so badly if only to dull the cries of anguish in a mind muddled with confusion and regret. The thick wound that drew blood like sap from a tree, her anguished expression when she realized it was him who had nearly cleaved her in half-

No, he didn't want to think about it.

This was his punishment.

“What services do you wish of me.”

“A fair question...well, that transformation ability of yours is intriguing isn’t it?”

No. He understood what this man was implying with a jolt of panic that spread across his face, jerking himself back.

“Oh, so that’s taking it too far, is it? Well that’s fine. I like this body of yours too. You aren’t so bad on the eyes now that that wretched look has been washed off your face.”

He almost felt it coming back- that bubbling rage that lurked in his gut- remembered quite clearly that you don’t need a spell to douse your emotions in madness. He wanted to rip this man’s face clean off, to bash his skull into the ground until his brains splattered and his flimsy servant body dissolved away into light. He never wanted to see this man’s face again. He closed his eyes as he brought himself closer, focused only on the warmth of his skin and pressed his lips against the other man’s neck cautiously.

“You are so gentle. Your class designation really didn’t suit you, did it, dog?”

_Shut up._

His mouth opened, his teeth grazed the skin of Archer’s neck. His teeth were no longer jagged. If he was mad enhanced his instinct would have been to rip right into this man’s jugular. That was the sort of killing machine he was. Any means necessary.

_That’s right…_

That was right. Any means necessary. To protect her he would…

“You’re too slow,” the King chided in a sing-song voice, pushing him onto his back with unexpected strength. He was pressed against the leather couch in the Tohsaka family’s viewing room now, the blue moonlight glaring against the curtains and beaming down on them.

As he forced himself to acknowledge the other's face, he analyzed it as though it were a weapon. Glossaries of unfamiliar words for ailments that hadn’t existed in his day but were imprinted in his mind- manic- that was the sort of look, like Archer was high of the air of fear itself. Perhaps it was not a weapon usable to his arsenal but that expression...it was more dangerous than any sword he had ever held.

is this what madness looks like to the outside?

“You aren’t going to struggle?  
“This is not the first time...I have had to do this.”

The King pushed the palm of his hand against his own face and laughed. He kept laughing long after any reasonable person would have stopped- it was not a reasonable thing to laugh at in the first place and he tilted his head back, roaring in laughter like Lancelot's submission was just a bad joke.

“That’s right, that’s right! I do think I recall something like that in those books about that imposter king. You’re like that other Servant aren’t you! ‘Chivalrous, wouldn’t hurt a lady, not even the type who would force herself on you. And now you feign submission for a man you hate to protect another woman. What a fool! It’s no wonder you went mad. Your way of thinking is seriously screwed up to begin with, isn’t it? You let women walk all over you. You let everyone step on you like trash. You’re no different than your worthless Master!”

The reality of the situation was beginning to set in and the rippling urge for violence was gnawing at his brain. That was it. This was why he was being toyed with- he was being provoked intentionally. Archer had no intention of holding his end of the bargain. he thought he felt a jolt of consciousness from somewhere that pleaded the opposite of his intended obedience-

Don’t let him say those things to you! and he obeyed- only because it was Matou's voice that compelled him to revolt, only because it allowed him the luxury of forgetting, even for a moment, who his current master was.

His fist, intended for Archer’s jaw, made contact with the couch, colliding with its wooden frame. For a moment the red lines of circuitry blurred in his own fist, but they soon spread into the wooden leg of the couch, turning the cherry-wood a tarnished black. In the time it took for him to do this, there were already three glowing portals behind his opponent, who had barely even reacted to the outburst.

“Yes, yes, more of that reaction,” Archer said decidedly, advancing with increased amusement.

He’d been correct in his assumption after all. This sadist wanted him to disobey, so he could use the inevitable disobedience as reason to betray his promise. Gilgamesh- King of heroes (o, what a marvelous ‘hero,’ the knight thought bitterly) and a demigod. He’d tried to punch him in the jaw- he, a mortal man. What a joke. His hand ached like blazes. He had been a religious man his entire life and felt all the more foolish for wasting his time crying over laws that that exploited purity and forbade passion. Was this how Gods were? If a God were so brazen and cruel why must a human be shamed for lesser acts?

“Your human master is persistent even as a vegetable, isn’t he. Well, it wasn’t a command spell, at any rate. We chopped his arm off. It’s not like he can use his body properly anyway so really we did him a favor. But if you insist on acting under his orders…even though you're my property...”  
Archer shot the swords at him like he was tossing darts, with no regards to the build or proper usage of the weapons. Lancelot ended up with a mutilated stub of a sofa leg and three scattered weapons, before he dropped his own pathetic excuse for a shield. It clattered against the floor.

“I won’t disobey you again," he insisted, trying to regain favor. He hesitated before gritting the word through his teeth again- “Master. So please...if you must fight my King then do so with honor.”

It was too late for him and Kariya. It was probably too late to save the Tohsaka woman too. Keeping him in this world had been the decisive action of a ruthless duo who simply wanted a tool that couldn’t disobey. They’d reduced Tokiomi to an empty shell and provoked Kariya into attacking Aoi in his confusion. If he had known they’d be betrayed then at least Lancelot would have asked the woman spared. But Kariya had that same beast lurking in him as all men, and that priest had cut the chain when it was at its angriest. Mad dogs don’t think before they bite. But really, a dog isn’t a bad animal, is it? If it’s treated with kindness, any mongrel can be a noble creature deserving of respect.

“You should be honored that I humor you even this much.”

“I am honored beyond belief.”

“Your words are earnest but they are simply in relief that I let your King alone for the time being. Thus you are not really loyal to me at all.”

“I cannot disobey you. Not with the amount of command spells your master has procured. Not without mad enhancement.”

“The issue is not in fear of betrayal. I’m not like those half-baked mages who don’t understand matters of the heart. This is why you annoy me, dog.”

Lancelot could not follow this man’s train of thought. This became clear to Archer, who produced two more glowing portals, from which he retrieved...an ornamental vase and a short sword of unknown origin.

“Behold, stupid mongrel. These are my prized possessions.”

They were fine objects, to be sure, but Lancelot still didn't understand, not until the golden king made his next gesture, not until the blade drove itself into the vase at the snap of his fingers, scattering bits of fine ceramic across the already trashed room, the sword embedding itself in a painting of the Tohsaka family with careless precision.He made no effort to retrieve it, only watched the berserker servant expectantly, and Lancelot stared in shock at the sheer wastefulness and brutality of the statement.

This man...

_This man was truly mad._

“Do you understand now? Possessions are to be admired or destroyed at my whim. They are objects with no freedom to long for each other.

He stood still as Gilgamesh breached the distance once more, running his hand across his chest contemplatively.  
The clothes of this era were odd and constricting. The other man seemed to agree, making little effort to be gentle as he loosened the belt and yanked his pants down unceremoniously.

"On the floor."

Lancelot tried, tried with all his might, not to lash out again, and obeyed, sitting at the golden man's feet until the other crouched down to his position.

“A knight is just another weapon. Even you know that. A knight serves the king. That is why the King cannot be a knight. Because...”

Don’t put your hand there, no…

“You are only objects.”

He was pushed onto his back once more. Fingers tensed to the point of strain. He bit into his lip this time to keep the rage from boiling over, felt the fibers of the rug beginning to harden themselves as his mind reacted like a database, searching desperately for something to do with it. He felt like curling over and covering himself as more layers of their clothing were removed, corruption lines spreading through the floor- instinct; kill; protect yourself-

“Please. Are you going to smother me with Tokiomi’s vile taste in decoration? What an awful way to die. You have no respect.”

Tears spilled out of the corners of his eyes. He hated this man and he hated these tears and he hated that this man could make him cry. The fact that such a vile monster was at one time worshiped as a king, the fact that he would treat a human being with the callousness of an object, even worse, that he would put Arturia on the same level as him, as a shattered vase or a discarded weapon.

“Are you crying? I haven’t even hurt you yet. Or perhaps it is my words that hurt you?”

Berserker closed his eyes and forbade himself further eye-contact with this devil. He felt something soft press against the skin of his cheeks- lips? was the other man kissing him?

“Why don’t you pretend I’m someone else and let yourself feel good for once, hm?”

Something warm and wet- tongue. Archer had run it across the trail his tears had created, like he was savoring the misery he’d invoked.

“Spread your legs. You’re bottoming. I can’t trust you to stay erect if you’re just going to keep crying.”

He did as he was ordered. It couldn’t hurt worse than a stab wound. It couldn’t make him more disgusting than he already was. That was the feeling he had resigned to. He couldn’t keep his eyes shut, though, with the other man toying with him in such odd ways. He was conservative and didn’t understand these weird sexual practices. It felt good, whatever this other man was doing to him. That was a pretty sick irony, he’d never considered he’d be able to get off to this. Then again, he was wretched enough to wallow in despair, to sink into madness...maybe he would just...do it again.

Two fingers now. he focused on the Archer servant’s face and set his own to stone once more, just so this man would no longer get off to his pain, if he had to screw a lifeless doll then so be it-

“Agh!”

“I bet you didn’t know men are sensitive there. Godfearing men such as yourself probably don’t stick things up their ass often. But hey, what do I know of pleasure?”

Too much, apparently. But not enough for Lancelot to forget who the man on top of him was, despite the advice to ‘pretend’ he was another. Who? Who else would be in such a position with him?

He blurred his eyes, now half between engaged and detached, focused on the golden hair, thought briefly of sparring with Gawain and accidentally falling on top of him. The reality was that the strange feeling had only lasted a moment before he’d rolled to the side and they laughed it off.

The mere thought of that comparison was so agonizing he forgot to hold his breath. Gilgamesh took the opportunity as it presented itself. The noise he made was somewhat between a yelp and a gasp when the other man withdrew his fingers and replaced them with his dick. It did hurt, every bit as much as he’d expected it to, but servant bodies were made to withstand far heavier damage than that tier of penetration. It didn’t take long before Archer’s rough movements started to feel good.

“Stop gritting your teeth.”

“You. Can’t. Control everything,” he growled in return, but fingers wrenched themselves into his cheeks, forced his jaw open as his own flesh dug into his teeth and he opened his mouth, Archer sticking his fingers in there too, determined to violate every bit of him.

Disgusting. _Disgusting disgusting disgusting_. He tried to clamp his teeth down but Archer was too fast, reading his reactions like an open book.

“You look stupid that way too. So if you want to keep groaning quietly like that then I don’t care either way. Bare your teeth at me, dog. Growl like the mongrel you are. Your anger is your best quality anyway."

He’d held his breath too long. Berserker gasped for air, the sound was unfortunately desperate and drawn-out, the other’s hands toying with his hair as he looked down with that distant interest- was it even interest? Perhaps the same interest one would bestow upon an animal they'd slain.

They continued like that for what seemed like an agonizingly long time. In reality it couldn’t have been more than ten minutes. His body was beginning to squirm in resistance to the pleasure shooting through him, head tossing from side-to-side as he tried to find somewhere safe from that man’s demonic eyes.

“I’m getting close” Archer said, barely engaged in his own act of violation, just an offhanded warning.

Lancelot thought about those words, furrowed his eyebrows and now watched the other man’s face for the slightest hint of distraction. Archer remained peaceful, his smile and breath steady despite the exertion, his eyes intent on his prey, not allowing him the slightest bit of solace. How could a man possibly ejaculate with that little interest? His own mind was going blurry. He felt Archer’s breath on his neck as the other servant leaned closer and searched intensely for the very moment his breath would skip, his body would freeze-

He only had that moment.

Human hands are more than capable of destroying a life Lancelot thought determinedly, steady and robotic as though it were a mantra. It hadn’t worked before but maybe, just maybe- he forced his power forward and his fingers clenched around the other man’s neck like a metal trap- maybe his hands could become his noble phantasm.

Archer wasn’t even phased. The color of his face became flushed with blood from asphyxiation, but he kept going for a few more seconds before pulling out with an agonizing wrench of his lower half and a satisfied gasp, berserker processing the feeling of warm liquid splattering across his abdomen before the manic smile returned once more to Gilgamesh’s face, before he took his own hand and slammed Lancelot’s head into the floor with enough force that something cracked- the floor, probably, and they continued to hold that position, half obscene and half murderous, neither willing to back down.

Mutually assured destruction?

He doubted he was going to win. Doubt was the fatal mistake that lost him his weapon, too. _Flesh is not enough to destroy a servant_ he realized, not one like this, his noble phantasm crawling back into his veins like a hurt animal. The purple hue faded from his opponent's face as his own head was going blank, his hands falling back feebly.

Now he was the one being choked to death.

Why was it that he suddenly didn’t want to die?

 _I want to breathe_ , he thought desperately.

_I need...I need air._

And as though answering his plea, the world around him shattered.

The light that had seemed so strong before dispersed as the glossy windows exploded towards them under a sudden wind pressure not unlike a hurricane. It tore what remained of the room to shreds, Archer standing with unfortunate swiftness and leaving Lancelot to lay there, stunned, before he dragged himself to his feet, unable to pull together what had just happened in his shock. The air tore at his open shirt and tugged at his hair and he was pelted with fragments of glass but it barely grazed him. It hadn’t been done with the intent to injure either of them, he realized.

It had been…

A distraction?

“You are as foul as I expected.”  
The words were not directed at him. She wasn’t even looking at him- sparing his dignity, he realized, giving him the time to reach down to his feet, pull his pants up as though he could possibly hide what had been happening.  Gilgamesh, completely nude, didn't even bother. Was he that shameless? Lancelot wished more than ever that he would just vanish into nothingness at this very moment, berating his own cowardice in front of his king. Well, at any rate, he was not fit to protect her, was he?

“Lancelot!”

Saber stepped into the room, bright as a moonbeam with her silver armor, sword brandished, he wanted to tell her to run away from this place but all he could do was open and close his mouth.

"Has this beast harmed you?"  
When he did speak, all he could utter was concern for the gash he had carved into her during their previous battle.

“Your side…”

“Dost thou believe Avalon a mere bandage? It no longer had use to my Master, and so I have taken it inside myself once more.  Why must you believe me so weak as to hold a grudge for that scratch? You insult me."

Smiling. She was smiling at him. He felt his stomach lurch.

_Why?_

_Why are you so good?_

Since he didn’t speak, Gilgamesh spoke in his stead- rather, he began to clap slowly, his amusement at its peak.

“Well done, well done, what a touching reunion” he cried, elated at this turn of events. “I thought using this man as bait might draw you out. Well at any rate I’ve had my fun with him so you may have him back, if you really wish for such a thing. He’s beyond salvaging, isn't he? He was before I even got to him!” Archer laughed hysterically, and Lancelot watched her hands tighten around the hilt of her invisible sword, her lips drawing into a thin line, forbidding her from falling to such bait.

“The only person beyond salvation is you,” she uttered, and raised her sword to the heavens.

Lancelot watched the other man's armor reform around his nude body, a signal that he was once more growing bored, or at least ready to take her seriously. Following this were gunshots down the hall. Gilgamesh tensed his fingers and began to open his gates once more, this time at least forty of his weapons emerging from the glowing portals behind him.

"I see you brought your Master. Well then, this will have to end here, won't it?"

“Sir Lancelot!” Saber said once more, her voice stronger. He jerked to attention, finally realizing what was going on. It would take too much time for her to charge Excalibur- far more time than it would for Gilgamesh to skewer them, but not more than it would take for him to unsheathe Arondight. When the first ten swords made their way towards her, they were scattered in all directions a mere second later, Lancelot brandishing his weapon with only one goal in mind-

_Protect the king._

He had failed the last time. That’s why he’d been so angry. He had failed her and she had left him to live in agony and he had hated her for dying. And so this time-

more swords deflected, Archer’s face growing livid;

“How dare you stand between me and my destiny, mongrel!”

“Only for this moment,” he whispered, charging forward as Saber’s mana shot through the roof, the entire room threatening to vanish from the light of her sword.

“Ex-”

Another shot down the hall. This time, even Gilgamesh paused, his hand over his heart for a moment, as though something had caused him pain. The hesitation was enough. Lancelot drove himself forward, uncaring of the metal that pierced his own flesh, Saber could not stop him from doing what he must- whether or not it was Arondight or Excalibur that delivered the finishing blow, the victory was to his King.

It was ok. If he died this way- if he died protecting her, it was ok. Perhaps not enough to atone, certainly not enough to live, but enough to earn that tender smile, to forgive the tears running down her cheeks, Warm and wet like the blood that ran across his chest and down his legs-

“SCALIBER!”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A battlefield spread before him, and he was on the ground once more. He knew the scenery well. At any rate, this scene, the moment between life and death...it was fine. He didn't mind death, but when he found himself cradled in someone’s arms, his body jolted in surprise.

"Arthur-"

“Shh” the King said, stroking his hair like a mother comforting her child, and he acquiesced, he rested his head against her chestplate and cried, because that was what he needed to do, strength be damned, because he was _dead_ , his vanishing consciousness knew this, and yet despite his best efforts she was here too.

“Why?”

“That Grail was corrupted from the start,” she whispered. “The entire fight- the lives lost over that pointless war…the terrible things that man did to you...”

Her voice choked up. He didn’t know how to comfort her, so he merely stayed still in her arms.

“But I still...I still believe we’ve won. Even though we perished, Gilgamesh is dead as well. So we may return…”

“Return where?” he whispered.

“To the place where heroes rest,” she assured him, placing her hands over his eyelids and easing them shut. For the first time, he realized his body was evaporating, the light of his vanishing body a dazzling violet hue. He felt her tears on his forehead and felt his own eyes sting from regret.

“You saved me. Even though I betrayed you. Even though I was unworthy.”

Was her body vanishing too? Golden light interspersing with the violet- he had wanted to say so much more than that, he had wanted to apologize, but his mouth wouldn’t work anymore- it had vanished, he realized, most of his existence had already faded, only a slimmer of physicality and consciousness remaining. And so he waited for her last words, determined to let them follow him to his resting place, to ring in his ears for eternity, unforgotten even the next time his spirit was called forth. Whatever those words may be, he believed her. Even if they defied everything he stood for, he would listen, as he had failed to do the first time.  
“You were never unworthy, Lancelot.”  
He did not see her tears as she lost composure entirely, only heard the words he so desperately craved. And like water freeing him from the mire, her words did carry.


	3. Envy (Shirou/Shinji)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I wanted you to save me too

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> not graphic because I dont do underage BUT luna and kip have gotten me into this trashfest trainwreck brorange shit  
> bless ilu filthmongers have more filth

After the parade of horrors the day had bestowed upon him, Shirou wasn't completely surprised to find himself tied to a chair when he woke up, the smell of burning seeping under the cracks from rooms far off in the mansion, Ilya's mansion, Ilya, the strange little doll who had called him 'brother,' dead now, organs strewn across the floor god-knows how many rooms over.  
  
He didn't want to think about her corpse, burning to ash with the rest of the house, and so he didn't think at all. He saw the familiar face of his old friend and rival Shinji Matou standing before him, and blurted out the first concern that came to mind-  
"Tohsaka. Tohsaka, is she-"  
  
"You really did chose Tohsaka, Emiya-kun? You really chose her?"  
  
For some reason Shinji's voice had this unsteady waver to it, as though he were ready to burst out into laughter, or tears. His face was no less ambiguous, he was a mess, his features were contorted into some almost clown-like grimace. Shirou felt himself recoil, but bound as he was, could move no further.  
Had Matou always been like this? Had he really always been this...disgusting?  
  
For lack of a better word, the boy before him-  
  
"My sister loved you too, you know," Shinji started, forcing his previously manic face into a reserved frown, as though chastising him. Then Shinji moved forward, his slender hand brushing against Shirou's face, presumably wiping away the dirt or blood or whatever that was caked on his cheek. His previous concerns that the house was burning, that Rin was in danger- he couldn't voice them now. He was starting to understand; none of that meant anything to Shinji Matou. If they both burned alive in here then...  
"Why?" Shirou croaked.  
  
"A lot of people like you," Matou continued, ignoring his inquiry altogether. "Everyone loves Shirou. Good, kind, helpful Shirou. Shirou who would throw himself in the line of fire to save someone who tried to kill him..."  
  
He pulled his hand away from Shirou's face, then gave the kind of smile Emiya had only ever seen in horror films on the culprit's face.  
  
"Probably."  
  
"Matou, what are you doing?" Shirou tried again, but his voice broke into a squeak towards the end of it, Shinji's smile growing bigger and bigger.  
  
"Everyone loves Shirou, but Shirou chose Tohsaka. Don't you know she's way out of your league, asshole?"  
  
"Shinji is it really the time to be talking about this stuff-"  
  
"Shut up!" Shinji yelled, slapping Shirou until his ears rang even harder, like his head had been slammed against the inside of a bell, the smoke unfurling from under the door; the smell of burning flesh; didn't Matou care about these things? Didn't he care that they were going to die?  
  
"Well, she was my second choice too," Matou informed him, as if Shirou really cared to know, as if it hadn't been obvious to begin with, but wait;  
  
"Second?" he rasped.  
  
  
"Stupid, stupid Emiya-kun."  
  
  
the room was blurry from the advancing heat. Maybe it was because his head was blurry, or the room was blurry, but it looked like Matou had tears in his eyes.  
  
"I liked you too, you know. I guess...part of me wanted Emiya-kun to come save me too, like he does everyone else."  
  
Matou coughed through his speech. Flames were licking at the door. Something inhuman wailed elsewhere in the castle, and Shirou felt his blood curl once more.  
  
"But that was never going to happen, was it. Even if we weren't both boys. I was beyond saving, you see, the day I was born into that household."  
  
Suffocating. He was suffocating, Matou was too, but when he moved forward it was not to untie him, just to rest his head in Shirou's lap, like a dog in need of comfort.  
  
"Well, the least I can do is bring you down with me, right?"  
  
"Shinji, stop talking that way, there's still time-"  
  
"There was never time for me," the other boy murmured, and for a split second, Emiya Shirou wished his hands were free, not to push him away, but perhaps to comfort him.  
  
  
What a crazy thought. Well, his head was running out of oxygen to make sense of it all. If everyone else was gone then maybe dying here with Matou...wasn't...so bad after all...


	4. Lust (Irisviel/Saber)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I want to write these two so often but my writing is just so hateful and Saber/Iri is so good and kind and doesn't deserve my evil ways. but its too late now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PS the woman inside the grail is technically not irisviel but a mix between her and dark sakura. basically a lost human soul that exists in the corruption but predominately iri imo. in this. mess of a short lmao. Also when Saber 'fails' she goes back to sleep in that one place thats name is eluding me rn. but this is more of an 'in between dreams and reality' before she is sent to another world line, and also meant to represent her disheartening towards heroics that eventually leads to her alter personality. like that what she really wants is someone to love her ect ect. I want that person to be iri bc they're perf but. Nasu will never let me have that. So im gonna write my own grail mud lesbian makeouts to compensate for this cruel reality

For a single miracle to exist, failure must be compensated tenfold. Something cannot be born from nothing, and to salvage a miracle immeasurable sacrifices must be made. It was an inevitability that Arturia Pendragon had been desperately fighting for all her life, and for it to end in failure again…  
Well, at least she was in the arms of this angel, or was she in fact a devil, hair like spider’s silk and eyes like wine, a smile like a waxing moon that loomed closer by the second.  
  
“I have missed you, my precious servant.”  
  
Inside this world of black, her voice chimed ever bright, but what woman was this, she was still uncertain. The aura of her voice, her warm hands in the stinging darkness, it reminded her of Irisviel, but the lines of magic, mingled pain and sadism etched into her expression recalled that girl; Matou Sakura. Already she was losing memory of the latter, her present and past becoming muddled like the darkness that surrounded her.  
  
“I can see your thoughts in here, you know. My poor, poor, Saber. You are confused, and sad. You miss that boy, yet you long for my embrace as well. I understand.”  
She allowed her eyes to close complacently, the silken skin of this Grail-woman running across her cheeks, wiping away tears that should not exist in this void of endless water.  
  
“Do not weep, dear Arturia, he is alive, and you are here with me.”  
  
“But I-”  
  
“You wished to live as well. You wished to live the boring life of a human girl, to feel normal pain and awkwardness, to feel normal love, and share normal human experiences. But that was not your world, my servant. As it was never truly mine.”  
  
The servant once called Saber felt this woman’s lips descend upon hers, and acquiesced to the embrace, returned it even. What laws of adultery, of sanity, of love, could exist in this endless void? She had felt lust for other women in both lifetimes and she had withheld her desires for the sake of duty or righteousness. Be she Irisviel or Sakura or some warped combination of consciousness, this woman desired Arturia, and Arturia returned her desire. Nothing could ever be right again, and so nothing could be wrong. It was that kind of balance, one that could only be realized by emptiness. This was the only thing warm in this sub-zero temperature. If her flesh was a falsification, if her body was simply a doll’s, it did not matter. Her lips, her breasts, her fingers, they did not feel false. She didn’t need reality, she just needed someone to -hold- her.  
  
“Arturia, my beautiful Arturia…”  
  
The grail woman, ominous as she was on some level, she emanated sadness, her arms weakened substantially and Saber strengthened her embrace, held onto her desperately with both arms and lips, lest she disappear into the darkness permanently.  
  
“I’m here. I’m here,” she murmured, moving her lips down the other woman’s neck, pressing them against her crease of her breasts and nuzzling her. “I will always be here.”  
The woman shook her head, and she smaller Arturia lifted her chin to meet her eyes, the smile on her moonlike face waning to a thin, melancholic line.  
  
“This is not your world either, my dear servant.”  
  
Saber wanted to ask what she meant, but she could already sense it- the tug in her arms as if the void around her were a gentle riptide. She struggled against it, tried to hold onto the other’s naked form, but they floated apart, fingers brushing each other just barely before she bid her final farewell.  
  
“If something like me were to have a wish...simply touching a soul as beautiful as yours has granted it.”  
  
“Iris!” Saber cried, needing a name for the love welling within her, carving away at her heart like an icy dagger. The grail woman shook her head sadly, rejecting the woman who still needed her desperately.  
  
“Be strong, my Servant, and then be weak. I will be waiting for you to fall again.”  
  
As she opened her eyes once more, her memories had already receded to a dull haze. Another world line, a boy with disheveled orange hair. She watched him coldly, trying to recall who he was or where she had been before this, why it all felt so familiar and yet stingingly cold. If memory of failure was paid as compensation; then time was becoming irrelevant. This was not her world, and yet she would be afforded another chance, and another, and another...the only inevitability of her failure was the darkness between, and that cold-yet-warm woman that waited within it. Perhaps that was why. Someday; even Arturia Pendragon would someday lose her will to fight.

**Author's Note:**

> im so fucked up


End file.
